MACKENZIE'S JOURNAL V

Of Father and Mrs. Whitfield

At breakfast, Mrs. Whitfield appeared more rested but brittle, with her emotions swinging from happy and flirtatious to somber and withdrawn. She certainly vexed Father for as he opened toward her, she pushed him away, and when he withdrew, she called him forth.

Father and I spent the morning with Jonah, Sarah, and the others, reviewing the fields and shops. In the afternoon, we worked in The Manor's dining room, going over the books of accounts and bank records. Whitlands was short of cash, but Father offered to advance what was necessary from Ironwood's coffers.

When Ebony asked if she should set the table for dinner, we adjourned to the front porch swings to continue our discussions. When Fancy called us to dinner, we entered the dining room to find Jane Marie and Mrs. Whitfield standing by the table. We held their chairs, telling each how lovely she looked.

Over dinner conversation, Mrs. Whitfield seemed to be more her old self, firm and in control of her emotions, as if the decisions to direct her life were made. I surmised her emotions were again bound tightly, but this time in a prison of her own making. Father's frustration with her coolness toward him was evident.

As dessert was being served, Mrs. Whitfield turned to Father and said, "I have made a decision, Bruce. I will live out my days in the guest house here."

Father's countenance darkened and he threw his napkin onto his plate. "Balderdash," he barked. "Complete and utter balderdash. Do you know what you are, Mary Elizabeth? You are a prisoner who tried and sentenced herself for another's crimes, and...." He slammed his fist on the table and glared at her. "And a goddamned slave to your own warped emotions."

She was clearly stunned as her blank expression and slack jaw testified.

"Yes, that's it. You are a slave. Is that what you want to be?" he demanded.

Mrs. Whitfield nodded her head, although her demeanor had not changed. I speculated she had no conscious idea she signaled him thusly.

"As you wish. If you insist on being a slave, then so it shall be, but you will not be a slave to your own fears and live alone like a hermit. You will be my slave, warming my soul and my bed."

She flinched like she'd been slapped, even to raising her hand to her cheek as if it stung. We all awaited her response. When her color returned to normal, she said coldly, "How dare you speak to me that way."

"I dare because that slave-girl inside you is one I am impatient to own, to have recline on my bed or sit at my feet awaiting my command to bring me pleasure." Father leaned forward and she drew back. "I can see that slave-girl in you, Mary Elizabeth. She will relish me and my requests with a laughing and enthusiastic heart, which will please both her and me immensely."

"You confuse me with your whore," she blustered.

"The next time you call her a whore, I will turn you over my lap and spank you."

"You wouldn't dare," she gasped.

"I would and I will. Be advised your spanking will be applied wherever the words are uttered, no matter who is in attendance. The swats will not land on your derriere as it is now, covered by layers of petticoats protecting your tender flesh and voiding your punishment. They will be administered on your naked bottom without a single layer of material to thwart my objective of correcting your attitude. And, my pretty slave-girl, I will provide the same rectification if other attitudes of yours irk me."

Not a sound was heard except the soft rush of our breath. Jane Marie and I were so still I felt the beating of her heart as we held hands. Mrs. Whitfield was a statue with her mouth agape and her left hand at her breast. Father was leaning forward with his elbows and forearms braced on the table, his jaw set, and his eyes blazing.

"I want you, Mary Elizabeth, and I have for years. I will have you," he vowed.

It seemed a long time before he smiled and sat back, releasing us all from the moment. He sipped his whiskey and watched the woman he courted in his own unique manner while Jane Marie and I studied the two of them.

Mrs. Whitfield suddenly swelled like a toad and her eyes flashed haughtily. "I will not go with you unless we are married," she said imperiously. Jane Marie gasped.

Father ignored her stipulation. "Mary Elizabeth, I want you to learn a new word," he continued.

"What word is that?" she asked and her voice trembled.

"The word is 'fuck.' It means to copulate, but it means more than a mere coupling either for procreation or recreation. It implies a soulful enjoyment, a wildness of spirit, an ecstatic willingness to both give and receive pleasure."

"I know that word, but I will never utter it and I will never do it. It is a foul and filthy word for the likes of your...." She stopped abruptly and her face flushed bright crimson.

"Well done, Mary Elizabeth," Father chuckled. "I knew you were a quick study. Perhaps training my new slave-girl won't take as long as I reckoned."

Mrs. Whitfield stood, whether to run to him or to flee, I wasn't sure, and neither was she. Father shoved back his chair with a rattle and stood facing her.

"You, sir, are no gentleman and I do not accept your offer of marriage," she said indignantly.

"You have the cart before the horse. I have not proposed marriage. I have proposed I fuck you, repeatedly driving the hardness of my cock deep within the wet folds of your own sweet cunt to bring us both inestimable pleasures."

He stroked her lips with his thumb. "And your taking of my cock will not be limited to your cunt, my beautiful slave-girl."

She stepped away and he captured her hair with his strong left hand, twisting his fingers into the braids piled on her head. He pulled her face to his and kissed her commandingly. Mrs. Whitfield rigidly resisted his hand but let his lips have their way with her own.

Yet, when their lips parted, she swung to slap him. He trapped her arm in mid-air, holding it there as their war of eyes continued unabated. He released her arm and her hair.

"A slave-girl does not slap her master, Mary Elizabeth, but if the bitter and unpleasant woman you have made of yourself wishes to slap my face, go ahead. I won't stop you."

Mrs. Whitfield's hands, clenched into fists by her side, did not budge, and her breasts rose and fell more rapidly.

He continued, "You and I are going to the guest house to copulate, at the least. If you demonstrate your own desire to fuck well and often, and your eager and wanton willingness to bring pleasure to us both, I will marry you and install you as Queen of Ironwood. If all you do is copulate, I will not touch you again and you may live out your days here or as the dowager of the Little House."

"I wouldn't marry you for a King's ransom, Bruce MacKenzie," she trilled, so obviously a lie, I nearly laughed.

"We won't marry then. I am sorely disappointed, but it is your choice. Fucking is my choice and I choose to do it now."

He seized her again and kissed her brutally with one hand on her bottom and one hand behind her neck. He kissed her until the heat melted her and she sagged against him. He picked her up in his arms and strode toward the door. I opened it for him and attended him as he almost ran for the guest house. I opened the guest house door and he carried her inside. In the second before he kicked the door shut behind him, he said, "We are not to be disturbed."

My thoughts reeled as I slowly walked toward The Manor. I had not anticipated Father enacting so bold a plan to capture Mrs. Whitfield, but, clearly, she needed and wanted to be taken with force and fire and passion, all of which had been missing from her life. I knew without a doubt she had privately surrendered but not publicly admitted it, for I saw her face as she rode in his arms.

Jane Marie, Ebony, and Fancy were whispering like three schoolgirls as I reentered the dining room. Ebony and Fancy, shamefaced, quietened and stood by respectfully. Jane Marie gave me a quick and ready smile.

"Will you carry me off and make me your slave-girl, Bobby?" she asked happily. "Or warm my bottom with your hand?"

"Make no mistake about it, my love, for I surely will."

She laughed, wrapped her arms around me, and raised her head to be kissed, which I did hungrily.

"You get to carry me off in less than three weeks," she said when our kiss was complete. "I can hardly wait."

"Then why wait?" I teased.

"Cad," she replied coquettishly.

She kissed me lightly and turned on her heel toward the stairs. "Come with me, Fancy," she ordered.

Since I was dispossessed of the guest house, I chose the late Mr. Whitfield's bedroom, located next to Mrs. Whitfield's separate bedroom, on the first floor of The Manor. I was questioning whether to call Ebony to my bed, for she was prone to loud exclamations of enjoyment during our pleasures, but she slipped into the bedroom and locked the door behind her. Rather than coming to my bed as I expected, she stood apart with a playful expression.

"Come to me," I said.

"No," she replied haughtily. "I won't go to a brute like you."

"Then I will turn you over my knee and warm your ass before I thrust my cock deep into your burning cunt," I replied arrogantly.

"You, sir, are no gentleman," she exclaimed. I advanced toward her and she, no longer able to play the role, wiggled and giggled wantonly.

I wrestled her to my bed, drew her arms behind her back, held her crossed wrists, and lifted her dress to her waist. Her lame resistance proved to be false when my finger dipped into her honey pot to discover it flowing with her love juices. When I drew back my strong right hand to deliver the first swat, she tensed and raised her ample bottom to meet me.

"Please, no, Master," she squealed as my hand delivered the first blow.

Her spanking was slowly given as I relished it all - the feel of her body twisting on mine, her groaning and tearfully entreating me to stop, and the heat of passion generated in both of us, as well as her physical heat. I spanked her until her buttocks were red and hot. Then her body moved in tempo to my hand and her voice emitted those sweet words and groans denoting her approaching climax. I increased the speed of my swats.

"Oh, God, yes, Master. Yes," she cried as her reward overtook her with jerks and shudders.

I threw her on her back on the bed and drove my spear into her sopping cunt. Ebony orgasmed again.

"Yes, Master. Fuck me," she said.

"I'll fuck you until you beg me to cease, my hot-cunted slave," I growled in her ear.

"Thank you, Bobby," she whispered happily.

Father, Jane Marie, and I were present for breakfast the next morning, although he appeared to have hardly slept. Mrs. Whitfield was noticeably absent. Father assured Jane Marie that her mother was well, but tired, and wished to rest that day.

Again, he and I divided the day between the fields and the books of accounts. Only Jane Marie and I were in attendance for dinner that night. Ebony informed us that Father and Mrs. Whitfield were supping in the guest house. Our quiet evening alone was enjoyable and a hopeful foretelling of times to come. After dinner, we sat in the porch swing, held hands, and talked until time for bed, which, lamentably, meant we parted until the morning.

The following morning, Father did not appear for breakfast and was absent when Jonah and I broke for the noon meal in the fields.

That evening when I returned to The Manor for dinner, Ebony announced to Jane Marie and me, "Master Robert, Master Bruce said he and Missus Whitfield will be joining you and Miss Janey for dinner, although they may be late." Expecting a delay in dinner, Jane Marie and I adjourned to the front porch to visit. Much time passed and I was ready to eat without our parents when I heard their approach.

Father appeared with Mrs. Whitfield three steps behind him. He held a rope leading to her wrists and wrapped tightly around them to hold them together. When he stopped, she stopped behind him, tensing the rope guiding her.

"Do you mind if a slave-girl eats at the table with us?" Father asked.

Mrs. Whitfield's appearance stunned me. Her long hair, which I'd only seen braided and on her head, lay around her in lascivious disarray. She wore a slave's simple cotton dress, but the way she wore it was completely different than any slave, for they wore it to their ankles and loose to allow movement as they worked. In comparison, Mrs. Whitfield's dress was many sizes too small, falling only to below her knees and fitting tightly over her womanly curves to overtly flaunt them. And she was barefoot.

Yet, her most erotic part was her face, for she radiated unbridled feminine sensuality - a demanding lust worn pridefully and without remorse. Certainly, her expression's wanton display exceeded my own lush Ebony, which is a comment without equal. When I grinned - I hoped it was a grin and not a leer - at her, she didn't defer her eyes modestly, but raised her chin and held my eyes, as if to say she knew she inflamed Father and she could arouse me, or any man, if she desired.

"If you mind her sitting at the table, she can kneel by my side," Father asked, for Jane Marie and I had not answered his prior question.

"She's welcome at our table any time," I replied. "Whether she sits or kneels is your choice."

"Thank you," he replied. He walked toward the door and she let the rope stretch her arms in front of her before she swayed after him.

I was more than pleased when I looked at my intended's face to find a reflection of her own mother's heat and need to be possessed by a man.

"Shall I take you to the dinner table or the bedroom?" I challenged.

"The bedroom," she whispered. She leapt to her feet and her eyes were wide as saucers. "I didn't mean that...no, I mean yes, I did mean it...but...." She stepped back a pace. "We must wait until our wedding. We must." She turned and fled for the house and I followed.

When we entered the dining room, Mrs. Whitfield was in Father's arms as they passionately kissed. When they saw us, they parted. Ebony, grinning broadly, peeked from the kitchen.

"Do you want me to sit at the table or kneel at your feet while your feed me?" Mrs. Whitfield asked Father. He leered and kissed her again before guiding her to her chair and holding it for her.

"May I have a pillow, please, Bruce?" she asked in a subservient and husky voice.

"Is my little slave-girl's bottom sore?" he teased.

"My soreness is not limited to my bottom," she replied coquettishly.

He tilted her head back and kissed her possessively before retrieving a small pillow, which he placed in her chair. She winced when she sat, despite the reinforcement.

Only then did he unbind her wrists. He coiled the rope and handed it to Jane Marie. "Pass that to Robert, please," he said. "I don't need it anymore but he may have a use for it since his bride hasn't yet felt its discipline."

Jane Marie burned brightly, drawing a giggle from her mother and a laugh from my father. She passed the rope to me with an expression that dared me to use it while evidencing her desire to feel it upon her.

Father and Mrs. Whitfield were two cooing lovebirds during dinner. The glow of their happiness shone throughout the room to infect Jane Marie and me and all the staff with a pleasant warmness. Father was puffed and proud of his new woman and his conquest of her. She bore the clear demeanor of a woman in love with, and aroused by, her man.

Over dessert, Mrs. Whitfield said, "I've accepted Bruce's marriage proposal."

Jane Marie and I enthusiastically gave our heartiest congratulations with smiles and handshakes and hugs all around. Clearly, the two were in love now and, from Father's confession to me, had been in love for years.

After Jane Marie and I returned to our chairs, Mrs. Whitfield continued, saying, "If you don't mind, we'll be married by the priest when he comes here to perform your marriage."

"We would be delighted to share the priest with you," I said, and Jane Marie voiced the same conclusion.

"Until then, I'm going to move to Ironwood so we can be together," she confided.

"We'll leave in the morning," Father said. "Should I dispatch James to retrieve Mary Elizabeth's belongings?"

"I'll have Samuel bring them over," I replied. "And I'll have him take Constance Anne with him. I know Elizabeth would like to see her."

"Wonderful idea," Father replied.

We talked of weddings and couples and bright shining futures, of them at Ironwood and Jane Marie and me at Whitlands. I promised to reserve Mrs. Whitfield's bedroom in The Manor for their exclusive use when they stayed with us.

"Ah, a bedroom here in The Manor," Father said. "Stand up, girl."

"Bruce," Mrs. Whitfield said, stifling a giggle, but she quickly rose. He hefted her in his arms and strode down the hall. She looked back at us with an angelic countenance and said, "Good night, children. Sweet dreams."

"We will be that happy," I said.

"Yes," Jane Marie sighed. "We will."

Love for my intended rushed through me like water from a burst weir. I stood, pulled her to her feet, and kissed her passionately, receiving love as heated in return, as our embrace added fuel to both our fires. I contemplated dragging her to my bed at that moment when I heard girlish giggles. Ebony and Fancy watched from the kitchen door.

Jane Marie stood on tip toes to whisper in my ear, "I want you every bit as much, but we must wait." She kissed my cheek and ran toward the stairs and her room. Ebony was openly happy as she watched us, but Fancy's concern flickered in her eyes.

"I'll stay in the guest house tonight," I called to Ebony as I strode toward the front door. I preferred the guest house to The Manor's bedroom, for Ebony and I had taken to roaming naked through it and not restricting our romps to the bedroom.

After instructing Samuel about the morrow, I went to the guest house to find Ebony naked by the fire. I disrobed as she watched from the floor. I pulled her to her feet, lifted her into my arms, and carried her to bed to copulate until we were exhausted and sleep took us away.

The next morning, Father and Mrs. Whitfield departed early for Ironwood on horseback, and Samuel transported her personal possessions and Constance Anne by buckboard. I spent the day hard at work and the evening with Jane Marie. She and I were in the front porch swing that evening after dinner when Samuel returned. To our surprise, Patience was with him.

Patience handed me an envelope and said, "It is a letter from Master Bruce. He asked that you read it in private."

I kissed my intended good night and retired to the guest house for the night with Ebony and Patience. I opened Father's envelope to find two papers, one a document transferring ownership of Patience to me and the other a letter.

The letter read: "Patience is yours now for reasons I will explain when next we meet. Like her daughter, she is a woman who enjoys pleasing a man. I am sure you will not deny her that pleasure."

I asked Patience, "Do you know what this letter says?"

South Carolina law prohibited the teaching of Negroes, free or slave, to read or write. I was not surprised when Patience replied, "I didn't read it, but Master Bruce told me he gave me to you and that I am now your slave." She smiled sweetly. "I shall be pleased to serve you, Master Robert."

"As you served Mr. Whitfield and my Father?"

"Of course, Master Robert. I would be sorely disappointed if my service was any less."

I looked at Ebony expectantly, only to be surprised by her lack of possessiveness. She said, "You're master enough for more than one woman, Bobby," which surprised Patience at Ebony's use of the familiar name for me and warmed me by the compliment.

I flopped back onto the chesterfield and Ebony and Patience knelt beside me. I studied my slaves and contemplated the swirling currents in my river of life. I must admit while I was eager to enjoy Patience, I was indecisive as to how to proceed for I was a novice in multiple-person copulation. A larger part of my hesitation was my desire to not bring heartache to Ebony, for she and I were developing a stronger relationship than mere flesh and I wished to deepen it further.

Ebony read my thoughts for she said, "Mother and I have previously laid on each side of a man, Bobby. One of us would wait and watch as he took the other, or we both would please him at the same time. We have lain side by side as a man mounted each of us. We have pleased another man while our master watched. And we have pleasured each other as our master or his friends watched us. Both of us will do anything you ask."

I had heard gossip from other boys of sex between women and of sex between men. The latter was anathema to me so I banished it all from my mind as inaccurate childhood rumors. Yet, I could easily see Patience and Ebony openly giving and receiving pleasure with their own gender.

"Please each other?" I said.

"Yes, Master," Patience answered. "We would never do it, or provide any other pleasure to anyone, without your permission," she continued with trepidation.

"He knows that, Mother," Ebony said, revealing her trust in me and assuaging her mother's concerns.

My manhood reacted to their words and my thoughts, and I was stirred to action. "Let me see you, Patience," I said.

She gracefully stood, slipped her dress over her head, and tossed it aside. Patience's breasts, easily as large as her elder daughter's, hung lower on her chest, and her hip bones had a wider spread. She was quite appealing with a deportment both devoid of modesty and full of sensuality.

I went to her to learn her shape with my hands, which pleased her as she studied me with a passive lewdness. As I hefted her right breast and stroked it with my thumb, I felt the ridge of an old scar that came from below and crossed across her areola to end above the breast. I turned her as my hands followed that ridge to her back where I discovered permanent evidence of a long-ago whipping. Her back bore the lash's trail as if four were received there, with three more across her buttocks and one on the back of her legs.

"Who gave you these?" I asked.

"Master Edward did, Master Robert."

"Ebony said he beat her but she doesn't bear these marks," I said.

"Master Edward only used the light whip on her, Master. He used the bullwhip on me."

As I stroked the scars on her buttocks, I could think of nothing a woman as willing as Patience to obey her Master could do to deserve such treatment. However, Father's words from our journey concerning whipping a woman came back to me, raising the question if Patience was always so eager to please, or the whip made her that way.

Even my wanton Ebony felt the whip before her first intercourse, raising the same issue with her. I contemplated Jane Marie, Father's comments about spanking her, and the lust for me I saw in her face. And I thought of Fancy, who seemed more than frightened at the prospects of taking my cock. Perhaps Mr. Whitfield was correct in beginning his slave-girls with the whip's encouragement.

"May we undress you?" Ebony asked.

"Of course," I replied.

Four hands busy at undressing perform the task quickly, yet the pace was maddening for I was anxious for Patience. When I was in my natural state, Ebony said, "Why don't you and Mother lie by the fire here while I build the fire in the bedroom?"

Patience waited for my signal before lying back on the soft rug in front of the center room's fire. I lay with her and kissed her. She wrapped her fingers around my cock and pulled it to her.

As I enjoyed my second woman for the first time, I discovered women may appear to be the same but are different, each with a unique feel and taste and touch. My ride with Patience was a silent canter compared to the noisy gallop Ebony often gave me.

The greatest difference was the depth of their emotion. Patience was pleasing me as she would any man, but Ebony and I had transcended mere flesh to rise to a more ethereal exchange. That is not to cast aspersions at Patience, for she was a happy and pleasurable partner. Rather it is to say there was an emotional coupling between Ebony and I that Patience and I would never have.

After I climaxed with Patience's arms and legs around me, I became aware of Ebony kneeling on the floor beside us and watching. Her face was open and sensual, without a hint of displeasure at my copulation with her mother. I rolled on my back and Ebony leaned toward me, kissing my belly near the navel and nibbling her way down to take my cock in her mouth.

"Let's get in bed," I said. She stood, offered her hands to help us arise, and we three stumbled into bed with Patience on my left and Ebony on my right. I pulled Ebony to me and kissed her. As we kissed, my manhood pushed its way between her thighs to rub against her the bud of her cunt.

"Please fuck me, Bobby," she said softly and ripe with love.

I crawled upon her and she guided me into her with her legs around my hips and her arms around my neck as we experienced each other with an intensity only lovers share. Our coupling was slow, letting the physical and mental of intercourse take us both away to new heights until we reached our rewards together.

The next day as I worked, visions of Ebony and Patience pleasuring each other continually intervened in my thoughts. I had only one concern - the potential impact on my relationship with Ebony. I knew other men - other slave owners - would demand their performance without the slightest regard for either of them, and, in truth, consideration of Patience's feelings gave me only a momentary pause.

Ebony was another matter entirely. I decided to test the issue head-on by returning to The Manor during the afternoon where I found Ebony in the kitchen, assisting in the preparation of dinner. She was surprised by my presence, but followed me into the rear yard.

"Would it displease you if I wanted to observe you with Patience?" I asked.

Her face brightened and she spoke truthfully from her heart, saying, "You don't know how happy I am that you asked. Thank you." She took a tiny step and raised her head in preparation to bring her lips to mine, but stopped and appeared embarrassed. Father's words about a mistress coming to her man only in the dark of night played in my mind. Ebony stepped back and said, "You're the only person I want to lie with, Bobby, but as your woman, I want to please you. Doing as you want far outweighs any hesitation I might have." She giggled at my countenance. "Can you wait until tonight?" she teased.

"I should return to my labors," I replied. She batted her eyelashes and thrust out her chest. "Temptress," I scolded.

"I only want to make my master happy," she replied sultrily.

"I'll be happy tonight," I said. "Now back into the kitchen."

"Yes, Master," she replied. She swayed back to the house with her dress tight around her and her buttocks thrust back to entice with every step. When she was inside, I mounted Palmetto and returned to the fields.

Fortunately that night, Jane Marie was tired and we agreed to end our evening early. I went to the Guest House, built the fire, and disrobed to wait impatiently for my slaves to finish their labors in The Manor. When they arrived, Ebony saw my erection. Grinning widely but without speaking, she fell to her knees in front of me, using hands and mouth to quickly bring my ejaculation, which she swallowed as she always did.

"Feel better, Bobby?" she teased as she licked a dab of sperm from her lip. I grunted affirmatively. "Now you can watch us less painfully," she said. She stood, removed her dress, and tossed it aside.

I anticipated the mother would direct the child and their play would be gentle and slow, but Ebony was a demanding aggressor, swatting Patience on the ass with a resounding smack, and commanding her to lie prone. When Patience promptly obeyed, Ebony squatted over her mouth and commanded, "Do me well, Mother."

I lay down beside Patience with my head next to hers. From that vantage point, I could see her lips and tongue on Ebony's cunt and Ebony's face as she enjoyed the pleasure her mother brought her.

More importantly, as Ebony's dear face reflected her rising passions, I could see what was not there - what had been missing when first she and I copulated and what was missing now. That is a reflection of desires and feelings beyond the physical. Still, Ebony did dearly enjoy sex in all its forms and watching her aroused my animal needs and made it difficult for me to only observe and not participate.

Her hands trailed up her body to roughly seize her breasts, and twist and pull her teats in tempo to her mother's tongue lashing her sex. Her eyes were closed, her lips parted, as she writhed in passion's grip.

Patience's eyes were wide as she watched her daughter's face. Her hands stroked the flesh of Ebony's thighs. And her own legs were tightly pressed together as her pubis humped the air.

When her lips covered Ebony's protruding love button, Ebony moaned, "That's it, Mother." Their tempo hurried as Ebony thrust her cunt against her mother's mouth. Ebony groaned with her face distorted in her climax as her mother's cheeks hollowed in her effort until Ebony slumped forward, gasping for breath.

When Ebony rolled aside, I mounted Patience to ride her cunt until my own climax came. As I drifted to sleep with Ebony and Patience pressed tightly against me, I realized watching them have sex with each other was pleasant but not pleasurable for me. I was a man of action, wishing to participate rather than observe.

*****

The next three weeks sped by in a flash, with days spent in building Whitlands, evenings spent with my bride-to-be, and nights spent with both Ebony and Patience, unless one was absent because she was in The Manor with Fancy.

When the wedding was only three days away, Father and Mrs. Whitfield returned to Whitlands, bringing Elizabeth and Constance Anne with them. I had never seen Father or Mrs. Whitfield look happier. We spent a boisterous evening reveling in the dining room, but before we departed, Father asked to speak to me alone. I directed Patience and Ebony to await me in the guest house and followed Father down the front steps toward the stand of decorative trees. There he faced me and spoke with intensity.

"I have come to the seat of Mary Elizabeth's feelings concerning Patience and her late husband, and I have discovered something you need to understand," he said. I nodded. "Do you know the term 'Sapphic love?'"

"No, I don't," I replied.

"It is when one woman has sex with another, using hands and mouth and body to bring the other to climax," Father said.

"Ebony and Patience do that, but they didn't give it a name," I said.

"That is what it is called," Father continued. "I told you Edward suspected Mary Elizabeth of adultery. His punishment was to deny her himself, which was to deny her any man, while he availed himself of Patience. About a year after her enforced celibacy began, he caught her masturbating and multiplied her punishment. He ordered a female slave to spend every waking moment with her and deny her self-pleasure if she sought it, which increased her sexual frustration and further humiliated her because the slaves knew her predicament.

"By night, he bound her to her bed with ropes to deny her nocturnal release, but his cruelty did not end there. He commanded Patience to have Sapphic love with her each night, to bring her to desire's deliriums and then deny her the climax she desperately needed. Edward would spew invectives to debase her further while he watched his wife's torture. He often finished by copulating with Patience as Mary Elizabeth lay bound and unrequited next to them.

"He ceased this Hell only when Mary Elizabeth was broken, with her female needs so deeply buried as to be unrecoverable."

"But they were recoverable," I said.

"Thank God, yes, but that is not the point. Mary Elizabeth hated him for doing that to her and hated Patience for her part."

"I saw the marks he left on Patience's back, so I suspect she did it out of fear of her own punishment."

"At first, but Mary Elizabeth says Patience grew to enjoy the sexual acts themselves," Father divulged. "Still, the tale is not yet told."

I had a queer feeling in my gut.

"Mary Elizabeth was further angered because Patience introduced her daughters to Sapphic love and they taught Jane Marie. While Ebony enjoys it as she enjoys any sex, Fancy seems particularly addicted to it. She and Jane Marie are lovers, Robert, and have been for several years."

I was lightheaded, dumb, and rooted to the spot. The implications for a happy marriage were clear. Father waited patiently, forcing me to address problems thrown at me and come to my own conclusions. I was in control of my emotions when I spoke.

"Fancy spends each night in The Manor. From what you just told me, I suspect she sleeps with Jane Marie rather than in her own room," I said.

"That is probably correct," Father replied.

"If Jane Marie is addicted to Fancy and Sapphic love with her, I will deal with that problem. It is no reason to cancel our marriage, for the reasons to wed are separate and apart from sex," I said.

"Correct, but how will you deal with it?" he asked.

"That depends on whether Jane Marie prefers Fancy or me, doesn't it?"

"Yes, and let me add that Jane Marie does love you and has yet to experience sex with a man."

"Which mean she doesn't know if she prefers a man or a woman until after the marriage," I replied.

"You're a shrewd man, my son," he said with pride.

"One more thing, Father," I said. "Does Mrs. Whitfield wish retribution against Patience?"

"No. I burst that reservoir of discontent, but I do not wish to test the waters by keeping Patience nearby." He smiled warmly. "Mary Elizabeth's ardor is bringing me happiness beyond my expectations. I will do nothing to dampen it."

We talked moments more before parting, he to The Manor and I to the guest house. When I entered, Ebony and Patience were sitting on the chesterfield, both naked as was my preference in their dress. They smiled and rose, each coming to me for kisses before they undressed me.

After we found our pleasures and they, as always, lay beside me, I thought of Father's revelations and of my bride-to-be and the three slave-women who were an essential portion of our lives. I was contemplating if Jane Marie was addicted to Fancy and to Sapphic love when it dawned on me that I was addicted to Ebony and had no intention of surrendering my pleasures with her. Patience was another matter. As Jane Marie had said, she was pleasant and compliant, all-in-all an ideal slave, but I could be separated from her without great protest.

While I had a modicum of disquietude as to Jane Marie's ultimate sexual loyalties, I had no doubt she loved me and would be an excellent wife. Still, I wondered what the future would bring.

To be continued
E. Z. Riter
MacKenzie's Journal 6